Ice in Moonlight
by Thalia Kendall
Summary: Hidden thoughts and secret meetings. 7th year Ginny Weasley carries a secret. D/G angst-fluff one-shot.


A/N: D/G angst-fluff. Angst-fluff being my second favourite genre, of course… hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: Bite me.

~* Ice in Moonlight *~

Time was scarce these days. She was quite busy during the day: Prefect, Quidditch Captain now that Harry had gone, Advanced Charms and Ancient Runes, NEWTs coming up. And she had a face to keep. Happy and positive. She had an example to set. And... there were things that she could not say.  
  
Nighttime was the only time, really, that she had to _think_.   
  
Ginny Weasley's face was impassive except for a glimmer of sorrow in her dark eyes as she walked down the empty corridors that evening. It was Friday. Every evening, one Prefect from each house would go on rounds, and tonight was her night.   
  
After meeting briefly with 5th year Prefect Orla Quirke of Ravenclaw, Head Girl Cordelia Caligo of Slytherin and 6th year Prefect Garrett Byrd of Hufflepuff, Ginny started her rounds on the main floor, and her mind wandered...  
  
It had been a good year, as far as everyone else was concerned. The youngest of the Weasley children of that generation was a promising, contented young woman. Perhaps slightly remote at times... but happy, kind, plucky.  
  
At least, this is what they saw. They did not know of the coded letters she received, sent by unremarkable-looking owls. They did not know of the nights spent looking at the stars, her eyebrows furrowed as she picked out a constellation named the same as _him_, and the worry that rose in her heart. They did not know of the secrets... or the burden that she carried, knowing that any moment, _any_ second of any day, could be the last.  
  
He could be found... found by those who had been his 'friends'... and she might be in class, or flying over the pitch, or... and no one would know. She craved the coded letters because their arrival meant that he was still alive. And yet, she noted their arrival with a sense of dread and apprehension each time as well. There were people who could see... could guess, perhaps. Sure, they had been cautious, but...  
  
It was a shadow that constantly loomed, and she could not afford to dwell on it.  
  
But human nature tends to dwell on concern and loved ones.   
  
Love... for there was no other word for it. The ache in her heart for him, and the odd way his gray eyes darkened with desire yet were more luminous whenever he looked at her... not that he could do so. He was hidden, and not even she could know where. It was hidden between the lines of the short, enigmatic notes he sent; a phrase here ('I'm writing this by wandlight, Virginia, in dead of night... just as you will read this by wandlight in dead of night, and it's a sense of connection')... or perhaps the way he signed it, not in the typical, sharp and aristocratic script that so often she'd seen him write in for... everything else from Prefect notes to Quidditch schedules to... but in a quick, fluid, scribbled "D" as mellifluous as his voice.   
  
She never knew when he would be there... but every time, it would take her by surprise, and it would be nighttime. And there would be a frenzied meeting of chilled fingers and heated lips and the smell of the wind of a long broomflight. And every time, she would beg him to be more careful, in a most un-Gryffindor 'discretion over valour' manner, and he would halt her weak protestations with fierce kisses that left her lips swollen and tasting like mint melting on her tongue.  
  
And all she could do was to hold onto him, slender fingers grasping for something to hang onto, and allow herself to be absorbed and consumed for the moment. And then, he would brush a courtly kiss on her forehead, and leave as silently and stealthily as he came.  
  
She had long-ago trained herself not to cry.  
  
Tears frustrated him, for _he_ had learnt never to cry. And he had never learnt how to deal with tears, and not being able to do something irritated him.  
  
That was not to say that she gave him her day face of impersonal calm and happiness, for he was shrewd and knew quite enough to see through it. The Slytherin gift of noticing chinks of any sort in armour, physical or psychological, was certainly one of his traits.  
  
Slytherin... that complicated, enigmatic house... that she still couldn't comprehend... didn't think that she would ever completely understand. The Slytherins... at times seemed to have an inherent darkness: a penchant for the forbidden, a disregard for the traditional way of doing things in favour of generally brilliant but somewhat shady maneuvers, an instinctual sense of secrecy. No one ever seemed to completely understand a Slytherin... and a Slytherin generally seemed to prefer it that way.  
  
And yet... despite their cynicism, despite their cool, polished, affected ice-calm indifference, despite... everything, had their own code... of alliance, of nobility, of faith. A Slytherin's trust was a rare and valuable thing... and they made for best, if remote friends... or sinister, bitter enemies.  
  
And to love one...   
  
Her swirling, rambling thoughts were abruptly cut off when a cold, slender but strong hand, the white fingers tight around her wrist, yanked her none-too-gently into the Arithmancy classroom, and before she could cry out, a booted foot had kicked the door shut, and cold lips had covered her warm ones. And then, a moment later, she relaxed, for she knew his kiss.  
  
He let go of her tingling wrist, and her arms lifted to encircle his neck, the fingers brushing snow from the ends of his fine hair, and feeling the cold of his wind-chapped cheeks. He was icy... just come in from outside, it seemed, and when she finally pulled away with a concussive breath, she noticed the moonlight streaming through the open window.  
  
And his eyes were frosted silver in the moonlit dark. A broomstick, and a shimmering invisibility cloak were set upon Professor Vector's desk.  
  
"Virginia... " he whispered, as he brushed a few melting snowflakes from his sleeve. She was in his arms in an instant, warm and pliant, her breath hot against his throat. He held her tightly, pale hands practically clenched around fistfuls of her robes as she pressed against him. Lord, but she was _warm_... even to the fire-bright tresses crowning her head.  
  
"Draco... you're here... " was as far as she got before he kissed her again, lifting her up slightly and setting her down on one of the desks. Her arms and legs twined around him, she moaned softly as his cold lips brushed over hers, then moved to her cheek, her ear, her throat. It was a long while before they parted again.  
  
"You... you have to be careful," she admonished a while later, gazing at him as he stood in front of her, hair shining platinum in the moonlight. He nodded, and gave her a slight smirk.  
  
"Slytherin, remember?" he drawled, "We do _many_ things we're not supposed to... and we're renowned for not getting caught."  
  
She gave him a small smile, and in a gesture that was uncharacteristically intimate for him, he picked up the small hands that rested in her lap and laced her fingers with his, thumb brushing the side of her wrist. "Anything new?" he asked.  
  
She knew what he meant. The simple things... were not what he wanted to know. Not at the moment. These meetings... were too short and sparse for lengthy reminiscing.  
  
"I overheard Pritchard say to Baddock that his house was being searched... they're starting to be alert now. More and more Aurors come to Hogsmeade every day," she whispered, "There's rumours of a planned battle coming up... Harry is finishing up training."  
  
"Good for him," the words only held a slight note of derision. Potter finishing training... would in the long run benefit him, of course...  
  
But at the moment, no one could know of him. She was his only company, only trust.  
  
A lack of alliances was somewhat unusual for a Slytherin... but then, at the moment, it was safest that way... for any were dangerous.  
  
She refused to stay out of danger, though.  
  
Gryffindor reckless idealism, perhaps.  
  
Or perhaps it was the way their eyes locked when they met, and brown would burn into silver, and there would be sparks almost tangible.  
  
He pulled her into his arms again, and immersed himself in her warmth, the scent of fiery tiger lilies in her hair and the warm taste of cinnamon sugar that was her kiss. It was shorter this time, deeper... and then, he pulled away. And he was smiling slightly.  
  
She smiled back, and brushed his mussed and tousled blond hair down with gentle fingers, fingers that he caught in his and brought to his lips for a moment. And then, he kissed her forehead gently, before turning away from her and once again grabbing his broomstick and cloak.   
  
She smiled sadly, and whispered, "Take care."  
  
"Take care," he said back, mounting the broom and throwing the cloak over himself. Then there was a whoosh of invisible air, and the room was still. A moment later, the window shut.  
  
As always, they never spoke the word 'goodbye'.  
  
And Ginny took two minutes to let a single tear fall, even as she smiled slightly, before standing up straight, head up, shoulders back... and walking calmly and quietly out of the empty classroom.  
  
She had rounds to finish. 

~*Fin *~


End file.
